Hate Me
by luna-frostmoone
Summary: Songfic... Rated for safety. A different view on the happenings after Goodbye Love to the end of Rent. Spoiler material inside!


**Disclaimer:** Ok, this is the first actual Rent fic that I've posted. I don't own Rent, but believe me, if I had… let's just say that there'd a few changes… Jonathan Larson (Bless his soul) owns it. I also don't own the song. Blue October does!

**A/N:** Ok dok, this is a slight slash fic. There's no lemon or anything like that, but there is evidence that there is something going on between our two favorite Boho boys. More like strong friendship. If you really want to see it as slash, go for it. For those of you who haven't see Rent on Broadway or the movie, there is spoiler material here, so read at your own peril!

Yes, I know Mark refers to Angel as a guy… he's supposed to… cause it's before the funeral.

This takes place after "Goodbye Love" but differs from the original in a couple ways…

**I have to block out thoughts of you so I don't lose my head**

**They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed**

**Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I'm alone**

**Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home**

It had been 2 weeks since Roger had left for Santa Fé. Mimi had gone into Rehab and was actually making good progress; Collins had gone back to NYU to teach; Maureen and Joanne were doing surprisingly well since the fight but it seemed like Mark was the only one who wasn't doing well. His best friend had left him to go to Santa Fé, but not before telling him that his entire life was a lie.

Mark sighed as he stood out on the fire escape. He watched as his breath came out like white smoke, and then dissipated into the air. He knew Roger wasn't coming back, but everyday he found himself waiting out on the fire escape. Mark looked down at his camera before slowly going back inside. The loft was quiet; too quiet. Mark set up his projector and was about to start editing his material for Buzzline when a thought popped into his head.

Mark hides in his work. From facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live a lie…

Mark looked at his camera before setting it down and leaving the loft. He couldn't work now. He just had to prove Roger wrong, even if the ex-rock star was never going to know about it…

**There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain**

**An ounce of peace is all I want for you. Will you never call again?**

Mark sat on the metal table in the loft, fiddling with his camera. He kept glancing at the phone, hoping and wishing that Roger would call. Mark knew better than that though. Even though he had promised call, Mark knew that Roger wasn't going to keep his promise.

"I expect too much from him." Mark said to himself softly.

Mark slowly switched on his camera before focusing it on himself.

"November 20, 1990; 10:24 pm Eastern Standard Time. It's been a little over two weeks since Roger left for Santa Fé. He promised to call, but I know better than that. He's probably got himself a new girl, a new band, a new life…" Mark trailed off with a sad smirk. "Everyone misses him, but no one knows how much I miss him. I should've told him how I felt, but I was too much of a chicken shit to tell him. I didn't want to risk losing him. Well, a lot of good I did. Yes, the night Angel dies and decides to leave I have to start a fight. I-I…" Mark glanced around nervously before going back to his camera. "I have to prove him wrong. I have to show him that I don't hide in my work. For him, I have to do it."

**And will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face?**

**And will you never try to reach me?**

**It is I that wanted space**

Roger stood outside a random building in Santa Fé. He had taken to playing his guitar on the streets for some extra money. He got by well enough where he was. He had clothes, food, water, a home; but he couldn't stop thinking about how everyone was doing in New York; especially Mark. He had fought with the filmmaker the night he left. They hadn't even said goodbye. The sun was going down, so Roger decided to call it a day and go back to his apartment.

When he walked in, he set his Fender down and went straight to the phone. He picked up the receiver and started dialing before he caught himself. He slammed the handset down and walked around in circles. He didn't understand why he couldn't call Mark. He had promised the filmmaker that he would, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Why can't I do it?" He said to himself as he continued to pace.

'Because you love him.' A voice in his head said.

Roger stopped pacing. "He's my best friend, of course I love him!"

Something in Roger told him that it was more than that, but he refused to believe it. He wasn't in love with his best friend. He loved Mimi.

"Maybe Mark will call me…" Roger trailed off, but he knew that Mark wouldn't call him. Roger had made the promise.

"Damn you, Davis. You're a fucking idiot." He said as he left the house. He had to get back to New York…

**Hate me today**

**Hate me tomorrow**

Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you 

Roger sat down on the steps leading up to his apartment. He crossed his arms on top of his knees and let his head fall down on his arms. He was about to go quit his job, but he hadn't gotten very far.

"What if he doesn't want to see me?" Roger asked, no one in particular.

"Who?" someone asked.

Roger looked up to see a young woman standing near him with a questioning look on her face.

"My best friend. I left him back in New York. We had a fight and then I left. I haven't talked to him in three weeks." Roger explained.

Wait? Why was he explaining things to a complete stranger?

"You think that because you haven't talked in three weeks and you had a fight when you left that he'll hate you?" she asked.

Roger nodded.

"You really think so?" She smiled.

Roger looked up at her, but before he said anything, he knew what she meant. He was worrying over nothing. He smiled and took her hands in his. He kissed them, thanked her and ran off to go tell his boss that he was going back to New York…

**Hate me in ways**

**Yeah ways hard to swallow**

Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you 

Mark walked home slowly. It had been a rough day at Buzzline, but at least he had gotten paid. He had the next day off, so he decided to do some shopping.

"I wonder what Roger wants- wait… he doesn't live here anymore…" Mark said quietly to himself.

"What you talkin' 'bout, boy?" a deep voice said from behind him.

Mark jumped around and came face to face with none other than Collins.

"Collins! You're back!" Mark said as he hugged Collins.

"Why were you talkin' 'bout Roger?" Collins asked.

"Oh, I was going to do some shopping, and I was trying to remember what he likes, but then I remembered that he isn't here anymore." Mark replied, as he shifted his gaze to the ground.

"Awe, come, man! Roger'll be back soon! Hell, we can't keep you two apart!" Collins laughed.

"But, Collins, we had a fight. A big fight and he hates me now." Mark answered.

"It almost sounds like you _want_ him to hate you."

Mark looked up at the professor at that comment. He didn't reply though. Did he really want Roger to hate him? It sounded so much like Roger did hate him when they had that fight…

…_You really detach from feeling alive… For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera, alone?_

_Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive!_

Poor baby

"I don't know anymore, Col'." Mark replied, quietly…

**I'm sober now for 3 whole months it's one accomplishment that you helped me with**

**The one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing I won't touch again**

In a sick way I want to thank you for holding my head up late at night 

**While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight**

**You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate**

**You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take**

Roger sat on the bus and it made it's way to the Big Apple. He stared out the window and thought back on Mark's and his friendship…

April had died three days prior to when Roger had decided to quit using heroin. He already had HIV and he didn't want to make his situation worse. He had been without drugs for a month and a half before his withdrawal had gotten incredibly nasty. He was depressed, angry, moody, and violent at times even. Mark had tried his hardest to help Roger through it all, but it was hard for both of them…

"Hey, mister? Can I sit here?" a young man asked Roger.

He just nodded his reply and went back to staring out the window…

Roger was lying on the bathroom floor near the toilet. He had been throwing up for God knows how long; it just wouldn't stop. Roger was shaking and sweating as he turned his head slightly to look at Mark.

"_Hey. How's it going? Feeling any better?" the young filmmaker asked, quietly._

_Roger shook his head slightly before he crawled up to the toilet. Mark turned his head slightly, so as to not watch Roger._

"_God, Mark. When will it stop? When will the pain go away?" Roger whispered, his throat hoarse from vomiting so much._

"_I don't know, Rog." Mark replied before kneeling down next to him… _

'Mark always had a way of helping me.' Roger thought. It brought a smile to his face just thinking about all that the young man had done for him.

Roger was vaguely aware that the person sitting next to him was gone. All Roger was focused on was getting back to his best friend, and healing the pain he had caused.

"It's my turn to help." Roger whispered…

**So I'll drive so fucking far away that I never cross your mind**

And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind 

Roger tried to sleep, but found it impossible. He kept thinking about everything that had happened…

"Angel died." Mark said quietly after he finished on the phone.

_Roger sat straight up in his chair and looked at Mark. "What?"_

"_Angel's dead. He died last night, in Collins' arms." _

_Mark collapsed on the couch near Roger, who moved to sit next his friend._

"_They say it was pneumonia and that the disease finally caught up with him…"_

**Hate me today**

**Hate me tomorrow**

Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you 

Mark sat down on the old worn couch in the middle of the loft and put his camera on the table in front of him. He sighed and looked around their – his sad excuse for a living room. It had been yet another rough day and Mark just wanted to sleep, but something was keeping him from what he wanted. He looked down at his camera, before picking it up.

"December 8, 1990; 7:40 pm Eastern Standard Time. I've pretty much given up on Roger ever coming back. He's be gone for a while now without a single phone call." Mark sniffled. He didn't care about his emotions right now. "Collins asked me if I really wanted Roger to hate me. Well, I _am_ the dumbass who decided to pick a fight the night that not only Roger left but also the day that we had Angel's funeral. Real smart, Cohen…"

Mark rubbed his eyes before shutting off his camera. He sniffled again and wiped away a few stray tears before he stood up and went over to stand out on the balcony. The air was cold, but Mark didn't care as he stood out watching for any sign that his best friend was coming home. Mark gripped the railing so tight that his knuckles began to turn white.

"Roger, do you really hate me?"

**Hate me in ways**

**Yeah ways hard to swallow**

Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you 

Roger couldn't sit still. The bus that was taking him home was only in Ohio. He still had two states to go through before he was able to see Mark again. Roger had tried to work on Mimi's song, but his mind kept wandering to Mark. What was the filmmaker doing? Was he okay? Was he still even alive? Roger had just run out without even a goodbye to him.

…For someone who longs for a community of his own, who's with his camera, alone? I'll call…

"I can't believe I said that to you, Mark." Roger whispered into the window. "I don't hate you, God, I miss you so much."

**And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave**

Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made 

Roger ran off the bus once it pulled into the bus stop. He gripped his gig bag tighter as he dodged the homeless people on the street.

"Please be there, Mark." Roger prayed to himself. "Please be there."

…_Glory, one blaze of glory, I have to find…_

"You are my blaze of glory, Mark." Roger whispered to himself, half hoping that Mark would hear him…

Mark walked down the street, heading for the loft. He had just quit working for Buzzline and he wanted, no, he needed to get to the roof. He had a feeling in his gut that he needed to go there.

…_Will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone…_

"Please, be there, Roger. Don't let me be alone."

**And like a baby boy I never was a man**

**Until I saw your blue eyes crying and I held your face in my hand**

**And then I fell down yelling "make it go away!"**

**Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be**

And then she whispered "How can you do this to me?" 

Roger had made it to the roof shortly after Mark had. He walked up and stood near Mark, watching him, not quite sure what he was supposed to do now that he was here. Before he could say anything, though, Mark turned to him.

"Roger…" he said.

"Mark." Roger replied.

Roger was shocked when Mark collapsed onto the ground. Roger ran to the blonde's side instantly.

"Y-you came back." Mark stuttered, through his tears.

Roger wrapped his arms around Mark and hugged him tightly. Mark tried to control his emotions, but was having trouble with it. His best friend, who had left him after a huge fight was back and was trying to comfort him. All of his fears were shattered as Roger placed his fingers under the filmmaker's chin, forcing him to look into Roger's eyes.

"I came back." With that Roger hugged Mark tighter.

The young filmmaker rested his head on Roger's shoulder while he tried to control himself. He gave a shaky sigh before he looked up into Roger's eyes.

"I thought you hated me."

…_You're always preaching not to be numb_

_When that's how you thrive you pretend to create and observe_

_When you really detach from feeling alive…_

"No God, Mark, I don't hate you. I could never hate you." Roger said as he ran his hand through the smaller boy's hair. "Come on. Let's get inside…"

**Hate me today**

**Hate me tomorrow**

Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you 

Mark sat on the couch, holding his beloved camera in his hands. He sighed before turning it on.

"December 29, 1990 11:40 pm, Eastern Standard Time. We buried Mimi today. She passed away four days ago, in Roger's arms. She looked so weak. Her funeral was small; just the family was there. Roger didn't cry. He didn't show any emotion at all. It scared me, a lot. I've never seen him like that before…" Mark looked up when he heard movement.

"Hey, Mark? What're you doing up so late?" Roger asked, groggily.

"Nothing, Rog. I just couldn't sleep." Mark replied.

Roger nodded and walked over to sit next to the blonde. He sighed and leaned into Mark.

"God, I miss her so much. So fucking much, Mark." He sobbed.

"I know, Roger. I know."

**Hate me in ways**

**Yeah ways hard to swallow**

Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you 

Roger sat strumming his guitar in a chair, while Mark sat on the couch with his camera. They had slept on the couch because Roger had fallen asleep and Mark couldn't bring himself to wake him up. It was quiet in the loft except for the occasional sound from Roger's Fender.

Roger set his guitar aside after a while and watched Mark.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked.

"Nothing." Mark said, putting his camera down.

Roger stood up and moved to sit next to Mark. "Can I tell you something?"

Mark nodded.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I don't know what I'd do without you, Mark. I wanted to thank you for everything you've ever done for me."

Mark looked at Roger for a moment, before taking Roger's face in his hands and placing a kiss to his forehead.


End file.
